Room 7
by Arsosah
Summary: They think I'm crazy. One-shot. Slightly AU.


**Room 7  
**

I know they are whispering about me. I can hear their voices through the walls, even if I can't make out the words. I know they are looking at me through the hatch in the door every time they walk past my room. I know what they are _thinking_. I wish I didn't, but they can't hide it. It's in their eyes every time they look at me. They think I'm crazy.

My stomach lurches like I'm on a roller coaster. Sitting on the bed in a small room with dirty white walls, I wrap my arms around myself, trying not to show how scared I am. But I know they are watching me. Always watching me. I can't hide from them.

"They want to take you away from me," I whisper, hoping they won't hear me. " _Shit_."

The others are all I have. I don't know who I am without them. I want to stop this, but I don't know how without hurting myself.

I can feel Soda moving closer. He's the only one who has stayed with me, but I know the others aren't far away. Maybe they won't visit today, but they will soon. I hope. They wouldn't just leave me here, they know I don't want to be alone.

"They want to take you away!" I moan, my fingers digging into my arms.

"That won't happen," Soda says firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I keep my head down, but I don't have to look up to know what his face looks like. His jaw set, eyes burning.

"Don't worry, kiddo. We ain't going anywhere."

xXx

I sit by a desk now, in a room that's almost cozy. It's a strange contrast to the room I'm sleeping in, with its bare walls and lonely bed. There are plants in here. Bookshelves and diplomas on the walls. A window, with rain splattering against the glass. I stretch my neck a little, catch a glimpse of dark, leafless treetops against a gray sky. It was a while ago I was outside, and my skin is itching for breeze.

I'm alone in here. I don't like being alone. When I am, it feels like the walls are moving closer around me. Like I'm going to suffocate. Like I don't know how to breathe without anyone else to breathe with me.

A clock ticks on the wall. It says it's ten, and I guess it must be morning. It doesn't feel like morning, I'm tired like I haven't slept in days. Maybe I haven't, but I remember pills and nightmares. I remember waking up in the nights, not knowing where I am. Until I do, and then I wish I didn't.

There is a soft click and the door opens. The man with the beard steps inside. He's not dressed like a doctor - he wears jeans and a brown sweater, and his glasses rest against his chest by a thin chain. He has gentle eyes but I know they see more than I want him to see.

I wish I was invisible.

"Hello, Michael. How are you doing today?" he asks as he walks around the desk I'm sitting at. He moves fast, all the time not watching me from the corner of his eyes, like the orderlies always do. Like they think I'm dangerous and going to jump them.

He drags out the leather chair, rearrange the note book and the pen lying on the table top before sitting down. He's not wary, but not defenseless, either. He looks to be in the forties, looks to spend time in the gym.

I know him. I met him at the hospital. In the other ward.

The room tilts. My vision becomes a little smudge in the edges, but only for a second. Half of a second. A million part of a second. I think the man noticed, but he doesn't say anything. He just looks at me, expecting me to answer. What did he just say? He asked how I'm doing, called me a name. The wrong one.

"I'm... I'm not Michael," I say. I look at my hands in my lap, stare at the faint burn scar covering the top of my right one. It's a part of the reason I'm stuck here. They took me to the hospital after the fire, and I never got out again.

The knot in my stomach feels tight.

"I'm sorry?" the man says, but he's not. They never are.

"Ponyboy. My name's Ponyboy." I jut my chin up, suddenly remembering our first talk. "You know that."

"Ponyboy," he repeats. Testing my name. He leans back, places one leg over the other and grabs his pen, looking too comfortable. "It's nice to meet you again," he says.

I can't say likewise, so I keep my mouth shut. Last time, he didn't believe me. Last time he kept calling me the wrong name. Last time he asked me a lot of questions, and I believe he's the reason that I'm here. He took me away from my brothers. He took me away from everyone.

I don't like him. He has gentle eyes, like my dad, but I don't like him at all.

"Do you remember who I am?"

 _Keep your mouth shut._

He's waiting, but not for long. "I'm Dr. Burton. I'm a psychiatrist and I work here. This is my office, and we're going to meet in here almost every day. How do you feel about that?"

I shrug.

"Do you know why you are here, Michael?"

"Yeah," I say. "But I don't know why you keep calling me Michael." My hands move to grip around the seat of the chair I'm sitting on. Something stings in my chest.

"It makes you angry?"

It's a statement more than a question. It hangs in the air, and I wonder what he will make out of my answer. Should I lie? Tell the truth?

"Yeah," I decide to say, because it does.

"Why?" he wonders, and my grip tightens, shutting out the blood stream to my fingers. My arms go numb, but I don't let go.

"'Cause that's not my name." Obviously. "My dad... my dad named me Ponyboy Michael. My first name is Ponyboy."

"I see." He sounds like he doesn't see. He doesn't _see_ at all.

"You wanna see my birth certificate?" I ask, glaring through my bangs. "'Cause it says so."

"No. I don't need that." He picks up the notebook, opens it to a new page. "Do you know why you are here?"

I nod once. Shortly. But he's not satisfied with that.

"I would like you to tell me," he urges.

I close my eyes tight.

"Ponyboy?" he says, softer now. Tricking me. "Why are you here?"

My head starts to hurt. I feel my heart speeding up, thumping so hard I think it will break through my chest and jump out of my body. Maybe it will land on the table between us, burst into million pieces, splatter my blood everywhere. What would he say then? Would he regret it?

Why am I here?

I know. They never told me, but I know.

I'm here because of my answers. I'm here because of what happened back in September.

xXx

 _He shoves me. Calls me white trash. Calls me a fucking greaser. He has expensive clothes but a foul mouth, almost equal to Dallas'._

 _He's not here. Of course he's not, he never protects no one else but himself. He's selfish like that. If he were here, we would win against them, but alone I don't stand a chance._

 _They talk and laugh and grab me. Hold me. I struggle. But I'm alone and they are five. Then I'm pushed._

 _The water covers my face and I try to hold my breath. But I didn't had the time to breathe in before they dunked me, and I'm losing the little air I have in my lungs too fast. I'm dizzy. I think I'll die._

 _I'm going to die._

xXx

Dr. Burton is saying my name. Repeats it until I open my eyes, taking me back to Now. To the room that's just slightly better than the park.

I raise my gaze and wonder how long I was lost in the memory. I feel drenched with water.

"Yeah?" I rasp, having trouble to recognize my own voice. It sounds defeated. Old. It's so silent in the room.

I know what his question will be before he asks it. Still, it feels like a stab in my heart when it comes.

"What happened back in September?"

xXx

 _I stare at my hand, all the blood. It's red and sticky.  
_

 _The knife I'm clutching."What did you do?" I whisper._

 _Johnny sits pale in front of me. Of course it's him. It's always him when someone tries to hurt me. But this time I can tell something is different. His eyes move from side to side, but they stay away from the boy lying in the grass._

 _The boy lying motionless in the grass. I don't think he's breathing. I think he stabbed him. Right in his heart.  
_

 _Oh god. Johnny just killed someone. He just killed someone for me. I feel panic rising, eyes widen as I stare at him, trying to understand.  
_

 _"I had to," Johnny repeats. Over and over. "I had to. He tried to kill you. I had to save you."_

 _Over and over._

 _I had to save you._

 _I had to save you._

xXx

"I had to save you." Jolting by my own voice, I feel sweat dripping down my forehead. I lift my arm to wipe it over my face. I feel exhausted. All I want to do is go back to my bed and sleep. Go back to my house. I don't want to be here anymore. I never wanted to be here.

"Who did you have to save?" Dr. Burton asks me.

"I..." Swallowing hard, I try to find the words. I'm dizzy, like it wasn't a month ago I was nearly drowned. "Not me. _Johnny_."

"Johnny?"

"Johnny saved me. He had to save me." He always has to save me. He's my knight in shining armor, but he comes with dark, sad eyes and torn up jeans.

"Can you tell me more about Johnny?"

Silently I shake my head.

"You don't want to talk to me about Johnny?" he wonders.

"I don't know. It's hard."

"How come?"

"'Cause..." Sniffing a little, I bend my head. "'Cause what he did for me."

There is a long pause. Then he says, "What did he do for you?"

"You don't read the newspaper?" I say bitterly, hastily wiping my arm over my eyes again, but this time for a different reason. I hate to cry. "I thought everyone in this damn town knows what happened."

Dr. Burton sits silent for a while, knocking the pen against the open page. _Tap tap tap_. There are words on it. I wonder what he has written. About me.

About us. If he knows my secrets already.

"Well, it's important that you talk to me about it with your own words. What I know and don't know are irrelevant at the moment. It's your version of the events I need to hear."

"'Cause of court?" I mutter.

"Yes, but mostly for your recovery. I need to understand you so you know that you can trust me."

I feel dread, rising from my stomach, up my throat. Time freezes. I can't see anything, can't move. Dr. Burton rises. Says my name. Asks if I'm okay.

But I'm not. I don't want to recover.

He walks around the desk, knocks on the door once, a rapid bang, before stepping up next to me. "Breathe," he says, rubbing my back. The door clicks open behind him, and he says to the other man stepping inside, "We're stopping here today."

xXx

"How did it go?" Darry asks. He paces the small room, and I know he feels trapped being here. But it's worse for me. I can't leave like they can.

"I don't know." I place my elbows on my knees, lean my head in my hands. "I think it went bad."

The others stand by the wall, watching me silently. Everyone is here except Johnny. It's unusual, and if I wasn't so scared I would probably be happy. But happy is a strange feeling - it usually belongs to Soda and Two-Bit, not me.

Soda sits down next to me. I can feel the dip in the mattress, him placing his arm around my shoulders. "Don't worry," he says, like he always do, but I know he's looking at Darry over the top of my head, that they have a silent conversation, leaving me out. I hate when they leave me out. They shouldn't be able to. I don't know when they got the power, but maybe they always had it.

"What if they try to make you stay away?" I moan. "I know they don't want you to be here."

"Hey, you know they won't be able to do that," Soda tries to assure me, ruffling my hair and trying to smile. "Darry's gonna talk to them, okay? It's gonna be fine."

xXx

"Dr. Burton?" I take a step toward the man, recognizing him because of the beard. I haven't talked to him before, but I have seen him around the hospital. Extending my hand as I come closer, I say, "Hello. I'm Darrel Curtis."

He raises his eyebrows, and a few seconds pass by before he finally reaches out to take my hand. "Hello."

I tell him who I am, and he nods, saying he has heard my name before. I would like to say he sounds sympathetic, but there is something in his eyes I feel uncertain about, the way he's looking at me. I don't know if I can trust him.

But he's the one I need to talk to. I look around the room. There are other patients and orderlies around, no one in earshot, but I won't take any chances.

"Can we talk somewhere more private?"

"Of course." He leads me around the corner and down a corridor, opens a door with his name on it. It's a small office, with bookshelves lining the walls and a big desk. He motions with his hand towards a chair. "Please, sit down. Darrel, was it?"

I take the seat. He sits down, too, behind his desk, studying me even closer.

I take a breath, not sure where to start. But he beats me to it.

"What is your... relationship... with Michael?" he wonders.

"I'm Pony's and Soda's older brother," I say, frowning. Didn't he know already?

He nods. "I see."

"You want to help him?" I throw out, deciding to get straight to the point, showing him that I'm serious.

"Yes. That's why I work here."

"He's scared that you don't want us to be here. That you will do everything you can to keep us away."

His face reveals nothing. "He told you that?"

"Is it true?" I throw back. "You want us to just walk away and leave him? Because I can assure you, that won't happen."

"Are you afraid, Darrel?"

I frown harder. "Of you? No."

"Good. I'm here to help. I want all of you to trust me."

Shaking my head, I say, "I'm not sure I can."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It makes my work to help him harder. To help all of you. You must be aware of the situation we have here."

"I know what the judge said. But you also know that he is innocent. It was Johnny who -" I wring my hands, but stop immediately when I notice he's looking at them. Instead I place them palms down on my thighs. "He's not even supposed to be here."

"I can promise you that I will do anything I can to help him."

"I don't know if that's enough."

"Then what is enough, Darrel?"

I catch his gaze with mine, make sure to keep it. "In my opinion?" I say, hesitating just a second. "For you to let him out of here. To leave things the way they are."

xXx

He immediately looks up at me when I step into his room. "What did he say?" he wants to know.

I don't have anything to tell him. We're alone now, the others someplace else, and I could lie and he wouldn't know. Steve would catch up on it, Soda too, probably. Dallas wouldn't take my bullshit, either. But the kid... in this state, he would believe anything I say. I'm oldest, the one he relies on. Sometimes I think he trusts me too much. Trust that I will fix everything. But this, I'm not sure I can.

He looks so small in the clothes they give him. I don't know if they are too big for him, or if he has lost weight. My guess is the latter, and I start to feel exhausted by this. The kid has to eat, but there is only one way I can make him, and I know he doesn't like that. I can't do that to him. Can't force it on him.

"We talked." I sit down on the bedside, close to him. "He says... he said he wants to help you."

"I don't want his help. You know what he wants to do to us. To _you_."

I grip his shoulders.

"Darry," he whispers, leaning in to me. "He's gonna do it. You know he's gonna do it."

"He can't," I try to comfort him. "We'll fight for you. We're staying. He can't force us away."

xXx

"I talked to Darry yesterday." Dr. Burton catches my gaze and holds it. "It was interesting to meet him."

"Okay."

"Can you tell me about him, Michael?"

" _Ponyboy_ ," I mumble. "I'm Ponyboy."

"I'm sorry. Ponyboy. What can you tell me about him?"

I shrug, look away. "I don't know what to tell you. He's my guardian. He's been looking after me and Soda after our parents died."

He writes something in the notebook. I can hear the pen rasping over the page.

"And... Soda?"

"What about him?" I shift in my seat, under his stare.

"What can you tell me about Soda?"

"He's my other brother. He just turned seventeen. Darry's twenty."

"You all are brothers?"

"Yes."

"And you are Ponyboy, the youngest in the family?"

"You already know that."

"Fifteen?"

"No, I'm fourteen."

"Three brothers, no sister?"

"No. There's no other family."

"You said that your parents died?"

Nodding, I avert my gaze. "In a car crash. In January."

"January?" he asks, frowning. He leans slightly forward, so slightly I wouldn't even have noticed if his chair hadn't creaked. It makes me wish I hadn't said anything at all. When they get interested, you know you have said too much.

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumble, clamping up.

xXx

"I would like to talk about your parents today."

I close my eyes. "Why?" I want to know. "They have nothing to do with anything."

"What happened in January is a pretty big reason as to why your life has turned out the way it has, Michael. So we should talk about it."

"No, we shouldn't."

"I can see that you are distressed by it. I believe it connects with what went down in September."

It feels like a hand grabs around my heart and squeezes it. My lungs feel too small. My stomach starts to hurt and I lean forward.

"You have to calm down, Michael, " Dr. Burton says, but it's already too late. My eyes start to sting. More than that.

He takes off his glasses, looks at me with concern.

"I don't want to talk about them," I cry, hiding my face.

xXx

Dallas lies on the bed. On his back, a lit cigarette in his mouth. The smoke whirls up and I breathe it in. I'm not allowed to smoke in here, but he has never cared about rules. No one in the staff seems to bother to tell him either, when he's around. They don't even bother to search him, making sure he doesn't bring in anything that could hurt me.

I don't ask him for a cigarette, though. I just try to enjoy the second hand smoking.

I sit on the floor, because when he and I are alone, he always claims the best spot. Not that the bed is a good spot with its thin mattress and flat pillow, but at least it's better than the floor. But he's the one with most power over me, so I always let him do what he wants. Maybe because I'm a little scared of him. He's the one that makes me do things I sometimes don't want to do.

I'm glad he doesn't come too often, but I won't say that to him. I have no reason to rile him up. He's dangerous. Can be.

"You talk to that doctor?" he asks me now, staring at the ceiling. "You tell him stuff?"

"Some things. He forces me to it."

Snorting loudly, he says, "No one can fuckin' _force_ you to do nothin', kid."

I don't correct his grammar. I never do. Sometimes when I do my homework he interferes , and I never get A's then. I never even try to explain it to my teachers, even when they hold me back after class, wondering what happened, why I did so poorly when I usually do so great.

"You talk to him about me?"

"He hasn't asked about you."

"He fuckin' _knows_ about me, right? He knows about my record?"

"I don't know."

"Shit, Curtis, you should tell him. Then he'll think you even crazier hanging out with me."

"Maybe you can talk to him, then," I say sullenly. "You tell him everything."

"Fat chance I wanna meet some fuckin' shrink." He leans up on an elbow, turns his head and grins at me. "Is there any food in this place or what? I'm fuckin' starvin'!"

xXx

"What are you thinking about?" Dr. Burton asks. He has trimmed his beard since yesterday.

I shift in my chair, place my hand on the table. Draw invisible lines with my finger. "Nothing," I lie. But I think of my bruises. And I know what he will bring up today.

"I heard that a boy named Dallas showed up yesterday," he says, and Dally got what he wished for. "In the dining hall."

I shrug weakly. I know why he did it, but it's not my fault what the others do. Not my fault he was trying to steal food. Not my fault that he trashed that plate and started a fight. I don't say that. Most people don't understand it.

I always pay the price anyway. I'm hurting all over now.

"He didn't like the dinner?"

"I don't know."

"You don't remember?"

"I said _I don't know._ I wasn't there with him," I lie.

"You weren't there?"

"I just told you."

"So you have no memories of his actions?"

"No."

He nods. Writes something in his book. I hate that stupid book. He's mapping me out. "You think Dallas would want to meet me? Explain to me what happened?"

The corners of my mouth tug upwards against my will, thinking of how that would play out. I bet Dr. Burton hasn't met anyone like Dallas before. I shake my head.

"You could ask him."

"I can't ask him. You don't _ask_ Dallas to do things." If you do, you never know what happens next. If you are lucky, you maybe just lose a tooth.

"He goes his own way," Dr. Burton states.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about him. How would you describe him?"

"He's tough. Some would say he's a real hood. A criminal. And I guess he is, in a way."

"In what way?"

I shrug. "He ain't afraid of anything. He steals things and starts fights. But he's a good guy, too. He's my friend, I guess."

"You guess?"

I bite my lip a little, not sure how to explain it. "Yeah... I mean, sometimes..." I trail off.

"What were you going to say?"

"I don't know him that much," I confess. "He's not around like the others."

"How did he interfere with your life? When did he show up for the first time?"

"I don't know. I was ten or eleven, I think." I give him a sheepish smile. "I was at the corner shop and really wanted a candy bar. But I didn't have any money. And then suddenly he was there, next to me."

"What happened?"

"He told me to put it in my pocket. That he would distract the cashier."

"He taught you to shoplift?"

"Not really. I didn't dare to do it. So he did it for me. He took the candy bar, and then when we went outside, he gave it to me."

"How did that make you feel?"

"I don't know. I guess I knew stealing was bad, but..." I take a breath. "Sometimes it felt okay, you know? A lot of other kids at school had nice stuff, but I never did. I just wanted to feel like them sometimes."

"You think being poor is a good excuse to take what you want, instead of paying for it?"

"No. I never steal."

"But Dallas does?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"He steal things for you?"

"It ain't like I ask him to. But yeah, I guess. Small things like candy bars and smokes. Stuff like that."

I better keep quiet about the bigger stuff.

"What about fights?" Dr. Burton asks. "He fights a lot?"

"Sometimes, I guess." I sit up straighter. "But he's a good guy, too. He helped me and Johnny... after, you know. In September."

"How?"

I glance at my hands, not sure if he knows about the heater. "Um... he told us about how to sneak up on the train. Where to go."

"Windrixville?"

"Yeah."

"You have mentioned Johnny before," he reminds me. "You didn't want to talk about him then. Do you want to talk about him now?"

"Not really."

He watches me silently for a moment. "I would want to try something, is that alright?" he asks.

It's not. But I know I shouldn't say that.

"Um... okay."

"I have seven names written down here. These are the names you have mentioned since I met you at the hospital."

"...okay."

"I will read them out loud, and you will say the first word that comes to your mind, and then we'll discuss it afterwards."

"Okay."

"Okay?" He looks at me until I nod. "We start with Darrel. The first word that comes to you hearing his name."

I don't have to think for long. "Responsible."

"Sodapop."

"Handsome. Happy." I smile sheepishly. "Sorry. That was two words."

"Don't worry about that. Ponyboy."

"Dreamer."

"Dallas."

"Unafraid."

"Steve."

"Mean."

"Johnny."

"Abused."

"Two-Bit."

"Carefree."

I watch him write down everything I said. I wonder if I said anything stupid. He has an expression I haven't seen before, and suddenly I know where I should have lied.

"You said 'abused' when I mentioned Johnny's name. Would you like to tell me why?"

I bite my lip, stare down at my lap. I knew it. But it's too late now.

"Is someone abusing him?"

"His dad. He hits him," I mumble. "Even when he doesn't do anything wrong."

His pen scratches over the page, stopping as his eyes meet mine. "Do you think he does wrong sometimes?"

I blink. "No."

"You just said, _even when_ he doesn't do anything wrong."

"Johnny doesn't do anything wrong to get treated like that," I say heatedly. "He has bruises all the time! His dad hits him with his belt, too. And once he hit him with a two-by-four. Johnny doesn't deserve any of that! You can't say he deserves it!"

"You're upset by the way his dad treats him?"

"Is that strange?" I force it out, angry now. "Wouldn't you be?"

"I would," he agrees. "Did you get hit by your dad?"

"No," I say firmly. "Never."

"How old were you when you met Johnny?"

I think for a while. Remember how I was crying. How he came to me in the park, sat down beside me, placed his arm around my shoulders.

His black eye and swollen cheek. The bruises around his throat. How he almost couldn't talk. How he comforted me, how he was the one who didn't cry even though he was the one who was hurt.

"I was five."

He writes something down again. I don't want to talk about Johnny, and maybe he remembers that, because he changes the subject.

"You said 'mean' when I said Steve's name."

My cheeks heat up. Steve will hate me forever for saying that. But he already hates me so maybe that doesn't matter.

"He's not... he's not really mean."

"It's still the word you came to think of. You have a reason for thinking that."

"It's just... he doesn't care about me. He doesn't care about anyone but himself. And Soda."

"He cares about Soda, but not you?"

"Yeah." I stare at my lap again. "He doesn't like me."

"He's Soda's friend?"

"They use to go out together. Meet girls and stuff."

He nods, takes off his glasses. "What do you mean with that they go out together?" he wonders, picking up a napkin to clean the glass.

I stare at him in disbelief. "What I said. They're friends, they go out. Like friends."

"Are you going out with them?"

I shake my head. "No. Mostly not. Steve always want it to be just him and Soda."

He places the glasses back on his nose. "How does it feel for you when Steve is around?"

"I guess it depends."

"On?"

"A lot of things. His mood. He's kind of snarky. Always speaks up and stuff, you know."

"He's not afraid of telling what's on his mind?"

"That's an understatement," I say.

xXx

Steve is yelling at me.

Saying I shouldn't have told him _anything_. Especially about him. Telling me I have to learn how to shut up. Ain't that the reason I'm here in the first place, that I never can learn how to shut up? That if I had done that in the other ward, I would be home right now? That they wouldn't have to try and clean up my shit if I were just smart enough?

I try not to flinch. Try not to say I'm rather here than home. Not always. But sometimes.

Soda doesn't even try to reason with him. I think he's scared too. They all are, I can feel it. Scared that I have screwed up, given too much away. Told my secrets. Although I think Dr. Burton already knows them. And the way the others are coming and going, how can I pretend anything? It's their fault as much as mine.

Dallas grins. I bet he likes what I told about him at least.

Two-Bit hasn't cracked a joke once. I don't even remember when he cracked a joke the last time. I think it was before. He's not even here most days. He never shows when things get too serious. And Johnny... Johnny is never here.

"You even listening to me?" Steve growls. I close my eyes. "Hey, look at me!"

He's in my face.

"You got us into this," he says. "How do you plan to get us out?"

"Don't yell at him," Darry sighs. "It ain't his fault."

Steve turns around. "Not his fault? Then who's is it? I'm fuckin' tired of this!"

I can't take it anymore.

"Shut up!" I stand up, yelling, too, furious all sudden. "Shut up! Shut up! I don't want you here! Leave me! Leave me alone! All of you! Get out! Get the fuck out!"

I put my hands over my ears and scream until they are gone. I scream until people rush into my room, force me down onto the bed.

I feel the sting of a needle.

xXx

"Aw, shit," I say. "I never meant for the kid to snap like that." I drum my fingers against my jeans, looking around in the room. Fuck, this place is awfully boring.

The doc watches me, interest in his gaze. "The kid?"

"You know who I'm talkin' about."

"And you are..?"

Smirking, I wonder if the little brat even has mentioned me. Probably not - I know he hates me. Always has, since I showed up. But I guess everyone needs a little enemy in their life. I know I'm in his life for a reason. He fucking needs me.

"Steve."

"Steve?"

"I just told you."

The doc's face changes a little. He looks down at his notebook, makes a little mark. "So... Steve. I'm a bit surprised you choose to show up."

"The kid said I wouldn't?"

He ignores my question, making me sure that I'm right. "Why are you here, Steve?"

"Cause I need to talk to you." I lean forward, all business. "The kid... he talks shit. I mean, I know he's crazy." I tap at my temple. " That's why he's here, right?"

"I wouldn't say _crazy_."

I laugh, lean back in my chair again, one palm up at the table top. "Call it what you want, then, doc. We all know what it is."

"And what exactly is it?"

"You tell me. You're the doc, ain't you?"

He blinks at me, leaning back in his chair. "In that case, tell me about yourself."

My smile disappears. "We ain't here to talk about me," I say shortly.

He raises his eyebrows, smiles like he's mocking me. "Aren't we?"

"No," I scoff. "Nobody asked me to come."

"And yet you did."

"So? I do what I want. Like I care what the kid says."

"And what do you think he said?"

"Whatever it was, it's bullshit. Remember that, doc. That kid is lying. About everything."

xXx

Sitting on my bed, I stare at the wall. It's white and dirty.

"Cheer up, kid," Two-Bit says. He showed up a few minutes ago. He stands leaning against the wall, white t-shirt despite the weather outside, a cigarette behind his ear. "You shouldn't sit here moping all day."

"I ain't moping," I say. "And you know they won't let me out much."

"Haven't I taught you the very come in handy way of _sneaking_?" He grins. "I know I did."

"I can't sneak through a locked door," I tell him. "And there are orderlies everywhere."

"A challenge, you mean? I'm up for that."

He walks up to the door, opens it, disappears out into the corridor. I go with him.

We sneak through the long corridor, bare feet against linoleum, I'm his shadow. He stops sometimes, turns around with a finger over his mouth.

"Keep quiet."

"I am," I scoff silently.

We round a corner and an orderly stands there. "Where are you going, Michael?"

I see Two-Bit further down the corridor, but the orderly ignores him. He just places a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to turn around. "Come on," he says, shoving me a little. "Go back to your room."

I glance back over my shoulder, but Two-Bit is already gone.

xXx

They start to give me another pill every morning and noon. They say the others didn't work. I try to hide them in my mouth, under my tongue, pressed back against the inside of my cheek, but they always notice, telling me to stop being stupid and swallow. Don't I want to get better?

I can't spit them out, throw them up. They make me stay in the common room, sit by a table with a nurse, until they're sure the pills are melting in my stomach.

Dr. Burton watches me closely every time I go to see him. He always asks me questions about the others. Always the others, but never about the night in September anymore. Never about what Johnny did.

I miss him. Johnny. The others come and go, but he's never here. I ask Darry about it, but he just says I shouldn't worry. It only makes me worry more. Why isn't he here? The more days that pass and he won't come, I get more and more scared.

xXx

I tell Dr. Burton I think Johnny is gone.

"Gone?" he asks me.

"I don't... he doesn't come anymore." My voice wavers. "You think he died?"

I'm close to tears.

"I don't know," he says, and I bite my lip to not start crying. He should _know_. Maybe it's even his fault.

"Maybe you don't need him anymore?" Dr. Burton suggests gently.

"What do you mean, don't _need_ him? He's my friend! I wanna know what happened to him."

He folds his hands on the table. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking!"

"I think you know, Michael."

I shake my head violently.

"You know you're safe in here," Dr. Burton continues. "Isn't that why he came in the first place? To protect you? What if you don't need his protection anymore?"

I stare at the table top. His words make me feel cold.

xXx

Sitting at the table, I draw patterns with my finger. I can't look him in the eyes.

"I heard that you wanted to talk to me," Dr. Burton says.

It's not our usual time for a meeting. I usually meet him in the morning, just after breakfast, but it's noon now. Winter. I see snow falling through the sky. I wonder how long I have been here, but I don't dare to ask. The days are gone anyway. I remember most of them, but not all.

I feel my heart thud in my chest. Not a normal speed.

"I wanna stop with the pills," I tell him. "I want to go home."

"You are making progress-"

I bend my head. "They are gone," I whisper. "I want them to come back."

"Who?"

And he says, "Who, Michael?"

I'm crying.

"Everyone."

xXx

They say it's time for court but I'm not going. I'm not going anywhere.

They say I killed that kid but I'm too sick to be responsible. I say Johnny did it.

But I feel it.

Shoved into the water. Covering my face until I couldn't breathe. My hand reaching into my pocket, feeling the hilt of the switchblade.

And then -

He always took what hurt me. What scared me.

But this place have made him go away. He's been in my life since I was five, and now he's gone. It's not fair. Dr. Burton is wrong when he says I don't need him. I need them all. I need Darry and Soda and Pony, I need Dallas and Two-Bit and Johnny. I even need Steve.

xXx

Dr. Burton shows me all the news paper articles. Says he thinks I'm ready to read them. That what I think happened wasn't really what happened. That the newspapers don't lie. He points at the date.

I already knew. I want to rip them into million pieces, set them on fire, erase every word, but it won't change it. It won't change anything.

"I won't ever get out of here," I say to Dr. Burton, my hand shaking as I reach for the papers. "Right?"

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "Maybe one day."

"I won't. I'm too crazy."

I bite my bottom lip. Stare at the papers lying on the table in front of me. Touch them with my fingertips. The articles tell about the murder. How a kid stabbed another kid and left him to die in a park, by the fountain. How he jumped on a train to Windrixville, how he hid in a church before setting it on fire five days later. How he told the firemen that a couple of kids where inside of it, that he tried to save them, but there were no kids when they went in looking.

No Johnny either. No article about three brothers who maybe wouldn't be allowed to stay together anymore. Nothing about Dallas.

Only my name.

Michael.

xXx

"I wanted to bring a book," Pony says. He sits down on my bed, empty handed. I don't know what he's doing here, but maybe it's not strange that he's the first to come back. He's the one I'm most jealous at. The one I mostly want to be. The one I mostly am.

"Go away," I tell him, and he looks hurt.

"I thought you wanted us to stay."

I drag up my legs, curl my arms around them. Hide my face. "I don't know."

"We won't abandon you."

"But you're not real." I lift my head, stare at him. He looks solid. That's the worst. How solid they look when they are outside of me. They aren't ghosts or spirits or my imagination. They are _here._

When they take over I don't have to remember anything if I don't want to. It's so easy to blame them when I do wrong. To let them suffer through the things that hurt. To be them when I want to be happy. When I argue with my teachers and meet girls. To be one of them when I don't dare to be me. When I can't be me, when life is too dark and scary. I don't even choose it, they just come. They are just there when I need them.

I was just a kid the first time I split, when my dad beat me up for the first time and tried to strangle me, the day I became Johnny. My dad couldn't beat me again. He had his fist and his belt and one time the two-by-four, but every time I could go and I was Johnny.

Maybe Dr. Burton is right and I don't need Johnny anymore. My dad isn't here. They won't allow him to come and see me. I'm safe now. But I still don't want them to go. Not all of them. My mom died in January. The only one who loved me. My dad stabbed her to death in front of my eyes, and I just wanted a family. An older brother to be there, taking care of everything. Taking care of me.

I only wanted to be someone else, again and again and again.

"I'm real, "Pony says, touching my knee. "I'm you, Michael Curtis. We even share the same name."

"I'm all of you," I whisper, and he smiles.

 **The End**

* * *

Thank you so much for reading!

Honestly, I wasn't sure if I should post this or not. It was just an idea that come to me, that I wanted to try and write. It turned out that I spent a lot of time with it, and so I thought, maybe I should try and put it up here...

I have done research but it's still fiction/fanfiction, so it might not really be exactly like this for people with Dissociative identity disorders.

I don't own the Outsiders.


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